6.7.23

Two Poems by BEE LB

CALLBACK


my mother calls me her own name 

when she praises 

my work. my work, as if it has value. 

value, i mean meaning. my mother 

praises my work

prints it off passes it around the office 

emails me her coworkers’ replies. praise. praise.

and what of it? a mirror can be anything

made of glass or self. i’ve hung 

so many paintings in my home i’m surrounded

by beauty or my face 

waiting to catch it. i must 

love myself. love being another form of

obsession. indulgence. pleasure 

to the point of pain; gluttony. surely i must love 

myself to stare so long and so hard. i didn’t learn

narcissus’ name until it was too late. i was

grown. i’d seen water. i’d covered my home

in mirrors. i’d learned to hide

from myself, who i love so dearly,

whose eyes i never meet.

 

 

all my friends are deviants


i want to be alive. i want something steady 

to stand on. i want to be more than i am. to recognize myself 

in the mirror. i want more to recognize my potential in the mirror. 

i dream in fits and starts. i name myself. taste myself. touch 

myself. i keep my beauty like a secret. 

i avoid being seen. i meet the eyes trailing me. i flock to mirrors

then shatter. skirt glances. i make myself small

and cold. i wait until my knees ache. until i’m shaking. 

until my body is begging for me to move. 

i live the legacy of broken boytoy. 

i scrape the mess of my life with my teeth. 

let my stomach acid dissolve my mess. 

let my body make whole my mess. 

i find divinity in the rare silence gifted to me 

by my cluttered mind. yes, i am seeking the turgid sun.

i safeguard what’s little left of my life.

guilt, a swollen tongue. avoidance, a sweat cleanse. 

time, a weight buoying life. i’ve plead. begged.

changed myself to fit into the hole 

left behind.

 

 

BEE LB